


True Colors

by Deiro



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Classroom Sex, High School, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Raijin Days, Some Humor, Valentine's Day, White Day, what is friendship?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:29:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4310559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiro/pseuds/Deiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have a pretty vague idea of what the word means to most other people. But it's just in their nature to not play by the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Colors

**Author's Note:**

> It baffles me that both Izaya and Shinra are so adamant about calling each other "friends" in the novels, despite their standards and personalities being so skewed. But I really wanted porn between the two. And so I found myself tossing ideas into this bowl that is their lovely fitting relationship~

“You make me want to throw up.”

These were the words his _friend_ used to describe him.

And he said these words with a cheerful smile and a glint behind the spectacles, which prompted a laughter from Izaya from across the classroom, because the younger man had agreed with his words.

It was amusing and sickening how well Shinra could read him. It was amusing and _sickening_ the way Izaya's stomach churned and twisted; which is why after his laughter, he approached him, his friend, and snaked an arm around him without hesitation.

(because somehow, that was easier than—)

“How terrible your diagnosis, _doctor_ ,” Izaya told him, baring teeth and flashing sly, crimson eyes. Pushy. Relentless. _Close_.

His friend did not shriek, or snort in disgust, or cower away from him. His words were sharp and spoke otherwise.

“I do mean that as a compliment. Your singularities are quite astoundingly repulsive, hahaha!” Shinra said, face soft with sincere amusement, without steering an inch farther from Izaya, who had trapped him in his arms. And that—

Those words—no. That smile and aura that seemed to perpetually radiate off him in _waves_. It was so close and yet—

It made Izaya's fingers _itch_.

Like he wanted to _steal_ the light. Like he wanted—

He closed the distance then, letting his lips meet Shinra's. And it hadn't been the first time, or the second, or the fifth. He'd lost count by then. It didn't matter because it would never be _enough_.

It did seem to lengthen with every turn, however.

(the first one had been so quick, more like impulsive curiosity laced with... fear? No more than a brief peck)

At that time, it had developed into something more. Something that reached _deeper_. Long enough for his tongue to have slid over Shinra's teeth and explore his wet mouth, embracing his body tighter and to steal as much air as possible until they _had_ to pull out to breathe.

The raven reluctantly took a break, hands firm around his friend's neck, keeping close so that his puffs landed right over Shinra's mouth. And Izaya wondered why he'd yet to bite that swollen lip hard enough to make it bleed, and why he'd yet to drive his switchblade through that shirt, and if he could one day make his kisses last long enough to suffocate them _both_.

He wondered this, because everything else Izaya did still didn't refute his friend's words.

He couldn't help himself. He was eternally _curious_! His curiosity too vast, and too repulsively unfulfilled.

He _loved_ to watch people's different hues, loved to watch them change, loved to push and let them reveal themselves. _Reveal_.

Izaya wanted this with Shinra too. (the instigator, whom he embraced tightest)

He wanted to know _all_ of Shinra's deepest, darkest secrets.

(wanted to steal them. Wanted the space between them to... disappear?)

~/~/~

“It's all about _you_ ,” his friend said to him once. He said—

“In the end, all you want to know is things about yourself.” —so casually, with his easy-going smile, shoulders rising in a complacent shrug.

“Like that time. That first time, you know? When we kissed for the first time.” Shinra adjusted his glasses out of habit. “Hm, that was in middle school, was it not? I had heard the kids in our classroom gossip about such things earlier. You may think I wasn't paying attention at all to what was around me, but I managed to pick that bit up. And you. Heh. You became _curious_.”

Izaya had been minding his own business at that time, sitting comfortably in the classroom with his legs atop the desk in front of him. His hands held playing cards and his mind was making plans. He looked at Shinra, and then looked back into his deck again as he picked his next words with a grin.

“And you're telling me you weren't _at all_?” Izaya took one of the cards in his hands to tuck it behind a different one.

“I don't fuss about such trivial matters.”

( _not 'lips' anyway_ , he'd said)

And the way Shinra's glasses reflected light off the window from that angle gave him an eerie, knowing aura. And. _Well_ —

That was a challenge, and Izaya chuckled. He felt that strange churn in his stomach make its way up his chest, and then lifted his deck-filled hand over his head to let them _go_.

Drop; the cards fluttered down, landing on random places, skittering across the floor.

(Shinra wasn't his rival. Was _not_ )

~/~/~

Izaya fooled himself into thinking he knew his friend just as much as his friend knew him. Fooled himself into knowing exactly where their limits lied. Fooled himself and assumed just how far he could really _push_.

(—and he wanted to push further, and he wanted to let go. But it was impossible. _Inhumanly_ impossible—)

“Come for me,” and these were words he never thought to _say_ , whispered in a hot breath against his friend's ear. Words that had impossibly escaped his lips and reminded him that this was a _very_ dangerous game.

Because the space between them had started to become a _blur_. Because one of his hands was well-lubed and tightly wrapped around Shinra's hard member, stroking up and down as fast as he could. And his breathing was ragged, and his chest a storm, and he was sweating like he'd been running. And he felt—

Radiant white heat, encapsulating his being, and giving off _warning_ signs.

Shinra's hands gripped the fabric of his jacket harder, and he was almost _there_ , he could feel that. His face was so red and lovingly twisted, and his moans were even _worse_. Izaya had to shut his eyes because the way Shinra's mouth hung open was much too inviting. Much too—

“Come for me,” Izaya gasped these words, lest his mouth gives out something else. “Shin...” bit his own lip until he felt his friend spasm in his hand, hot white spewing forth in short waves, staining his shirt and fingers slick.

His crimson eyes flew open and _gleamed_ at the sight before him, at the white trail left in his shirt, at the cum in his palms. And the scent was so close, so rare—

(and not enough. Not _yet_ )

Izaya's mouth then trapped his friend's again, and Shinra could barely _breathe_. (and wasn't that just fitting?)

~/~/~

Valentine’s Days always held something memorable.

It was during this time of the year that many girls would adorn him in chocolates. A whole stack of them, of different flavors and different shapes. Atop his desk, Izaya's stash overflowed.

But none of them ever did that toward his friend. Never to Shinra, so he—

He'd slipped in a pink-tinted letter once, into his friend's shoe box that day.

(Shinra hadn't been the only recipient)

And he watched him from the far end of the lockers, bemused, at how quickly Shinra gave the envelope a once-over and then just as easily ripped it and tossed it in the garbage.

(and Izaya felt... Unique. Possessive. _Clever_ )

Shinra never bothered to read any of this shit. Regardless of his 'pervert' reputation, he'd just go to the library and delve into Anatomical Encyclopedias and various other strange readings, totally unaffected by the day's moods and colors.

(no, more like he had _entirely different_ things in his mind that day. Izaya knew about this!)

So when they were at the library, with Izaya sitting two tables behind him, he folded a blue-tinted letter that day, shaped it into a paper plane and tossed it his friend's way. It flew right into Shinra's head. And the brunette had grabbed it, and rather than simply crumpling it in his hands and tossing that as well, he _deigned_ to unfold it and look at its contents...

Izaya had scribbled a giant penis onto this blue-tinted letter, with a heart next to it. And just as Shinra watched this image reveal itself in front of him— 

The clad-in-black student had come up to him from behind in slow steps.

“Oh, my, my. Your interests are certainly elsewhere,” he said, hands on his pockets. Casual smile.

And it had taken Shinra a second, but

“Hahaha! Go fuck yourself, Izaya,” he answered, crumpling said paper and tossing it to the floor.

(it tugged at Izaya's insides when he could get Shinra annoyed. Because he _wasn't_ , really. He was just shifting into a different hue. Changing his color for him)

~/~/~

It was always a shock when Shinra outdid himself and spoke his most unsettling and unexpected words yet. But that time he'd done so in an abrupt change of mood. Like he was angry, like he _demanded_ —

“Let me suck you.”

And Izaya's mind was about light up fireworks.

“...What?” he nearly stuttered, slowly blinking to prevent his eyes from widening any further. And he struggled to put his thoughts to a halt. Struggled to _not_ think about—

—not the times when Shinra's words had led him astray or otherwise misdirected him (the confusion, the vagueness). Nor the way he'd seen him hold a scalpel, nor the way a different smile hid beneath that shining surface (and the way he knew of him and _challenged_ him).

Izaya had been on his knees with the intention of _being_ the one going down on him, fueled by the hunger and hazy memory of having heard his _own_ name mouthed off from his friend's lips in gasps; coupled by that irrefutably pink-flushed, sweaty face, and the endearing about-to-fall-off spectacles.

And his need to see more. (the need to still push and the need _explore_ )

His hands had been already pulling fabric and his nose had brushed against the scar on Shinra's side, lips about to kiss, about to make contact—

Until Shinra's hands had dropped on his shoulders like a pair of ice-cold bricks and told him to _stop_.

(and he hadn't been nervous, and he _wasn't_ alarmed, because he knew where his friend's limits lied. He _knew_ )

“Izaya, let _me_ suck you, alright?”

And before the fireworks could go off, before Shinra's words truly sunk in, Izaya immediately got up to meet his friend's eye-level, captured his chin and pushed him to the wall with abrupt force. (it wasn't desperate. It was an attempt to distract)

“You’ll do that now, Shinra? How awfully nice,” voice unnecessarily loud and edgy. Tongue flicked out to slick his upper lip before he continued. “Always knew you were such a pervert.”

Izaya wished his eyes were sharp enough (to pierce for... truth? control?), and he wanted to keep _peeling_ at the different sides that Shinra showed him. (wanted to hold them, wanted to keep them, and— _NO_ )

And Shinra had sucked him. Blown him. Taken him into his mouth. His mouth—

So hot, so wet, so _stuffed_. Nothing but slurps and gags and the alluring sight of moist red lips wrapped around him. The feel of Shinra's tongue going over Izaya's flesh, tracing veins and mapping reactions. The teary eyes, deep grey-blue, that shone like the ocean and seemed to offer him _more_ —

(he imprinted this to his mind and locked it to memory)

—in the way that Shinra was _looking_ at him so carefully through those damp irises, like Izaya was being scrutinized inside out. Like he was being inspected and—

Like _he_ was the one being Revealed.

Izaya's face had turned into a deep shade of red, and he couldn't have made his desire to hold still any more obvious than with his fist stuck between his teeth. Yet his body still caved _into_ his friend, nearly toppling over because his legs were on their way to becoming jelly. Because his dick was hitting the back of Shinra's throat, over and over. And he felt it closer with each time. Release. So close to eruption, but he—

(and he'd wanted to surrender, or moan, or laugh, or perhaps place his hands to the back of his friend to force him there. To choke him and make him squeeze his eyes shut from him being too much)

—but he couldn't. He _pulled_.

(he didn't give in an inch more. _Couldn't_ give—)

Izaya pushed at Shinra's shoulders, slipping his dick out that mouth with a wet slurp. Those taut red lips still held a slick thread of his pre-cum, so tantalizing and hanging over Shinra's lips.

(—not _any of himself_. Not more than he _needed_ , and not an inch _more_ )

And he struggled to maintain breathing, because Shinra was—

Shinra had smeared that thread of pre-cum across his fingers, over his open mouth, licked his lips and _smirked_ at him.

No. Was about to, more like.

And with burning, shaky hands, Izaya brazenly pulled his friend up by the collar, smacked his back haphazardly against a desk. And Shinra had winced from the abruptness, but then he _laughed_ just as easily and openly as ever.

And then called him an asshole, and then called him a _coward_ , and Izaya—

(…was starting to lose sight of where their limits lied...?)

(...did he ever really knew?)

He released into his _own_ hand then, biting the fabric over Shinra's shoulder, rubbing only halfway onto him, cursed and sworn internally that he'll not allow himself to fall into this trap again.

(Shinra hadn't done this for him, he _knew_ that. Knew it because it _had_ to be the Truth)

~/~/~

And then there was White Day.

That day, rather than returning the many gifts he'd been adorned with the prior month, there was a crunching noise between Izaya's teeth that followed after his words, as he sat casually on his desk inside an empty after-school classroom.

"You know, I can be quite thoughtful,” he played composed and calm, munching on rice crackers while Shinra was hunched at his desk, filling in the answers to a worksheet.

“I don't doubt it,” his friend answered. “Especially when you're preying on the weaker masses. You put _so_ much effort into it, don't you?” Shinra flicked at the upper corner of his glasses and snickered back to his friend before returning to his homework.

"Hmn. Say whatever you want,” Izaya scoffed. He could just as quickly fill up the worksheets on his desk, but for the moment they weren't worth his time. He grabbed another rice cracker and then leaned a little closer, placing an arm atop Shinra's desk as though he were about to talk in secret.

"For example,” he continued, “rather than the contents of the paper plane that flew over your head last month, I could have handed that same to you in Chocolate form.”

“Well I guess you like wasting your money, since I'd done to it the same thing I did that scrap of paper,” Shinra smiled, but then straightened up. “Unless you like eating it. I don't doubt that either, considering.”

“Would you have liked to see?” Izaya took the rice cracker into his mouth with bemused eyes and chewed.

“As much as like to see you eat anything.” Shinra relaxed to the back of chair, dragged his pencil up and rested the eraser-end atop his bottom lip, as if mulling over things. “Hmm, but now that you mention that, I believe I have seen anus-shaped chocolates. You can order those as gifts.”

Izaya slowly plastered a dark grin over his lips after he gulped down, and then spoke his next words...

“Are you suggesting I eat your ass?”

...which weren't any type of words one would say to a _friend_.

Yet his friend's eyes had widened and his face had begun to form red patches over his cheeks as he stared back at Izaya. Except Izaya knew that Shinra wasn't really looking at _him_.

He was looking elsewhere. Somewhere _past_ the Izaya in front of him and probably deep in his imaginations.

(and darn it if that image wasn't—)

Izaya couldn't help his mild scowl as Shinra remained silent for those few staring seconds (for various reasons).

"That...” Shinra's eyes returned to him and he stuttered, jerking forward and catching his glasses before they fell off. “That wasn't anything I expected to hear when I said that. Hahahaha. I can't even—” he fanned his face in an attempt to cool.

Izaya took another rice cracker and chewed, narrowly looking at Shinra while trying _not_ to smile.

(there had been laughter bubbling up in his chest, but he wasn't sure where it was being directed at, and insisted that he couldn't do it)

~/~/~

And Shinra's heart never wavered. Not in the _least_.

No matter what strange hobbies he engaged in, there was always a 'centerpoint' to which the man calmly returned at the end of the day. (calm, and composed, and _pure_ )

Izaya loved this about him.

He loved because neither did _his_ own heart. (because he loved _everything_ )

And that's exactly how it should be. That's exactly where their limits lied.

That centerpoint.

No matter what other things they'd... _Do_.

Such as—

The times they explored the differences in their skin tones.

The way the dark-colored hairs on Shinra's head fell to the sides, revealing the back of that fragile damp neck, and how its hue there differed from the one in Izaya's fingers, which brushed against it and trailed a line.

Down Shinra's spine, his—

—skin was drenched in sweat, which made his school shirt stick to his back. Izaya's palm lightly tugged at the white fabric, making his way further down. To the place where,

There was the exposed small of Shinra’s back, the place where clothing _ended_. And Izaya had to reel himself in, because Shinra's skin felt smooth and soft against his fingers, and that shouldn't have been anything he was _touching_ then.

Just below that skin under his fingers, there was the space where Shinra's body finally melded into _him_. Into a heat that grabbed and beckoned, into that blur that was their (separation?) existence.

Shinra's body was bent over one of the desks and _revealing_ itself to him this way, underneath him, shaking just lightly. And it was then Izaya's turn to study Shinra's lovely colors that seemed to wrap around him perfectly, pulling him forward; tightly hot and mesmerizing—

(the way his mouth had been)

—and sending waves into his being that were too much, and not enough, and his mind was loosening, and he couldn't _decide_.

And so Izaya asked,

“...Are ...you alright?” in a somewhat strained voice, he asked his most uncharacteristic question yet. In a tone wasn't him, except that he actually meant it. And the beads of sweat from his forehead trickled down his face, and he expected—

“H-hurts like...anh!”

—a protest or a retreat, but couldn't get either because Shinra let out a moan that rang in his ears more like an _invitation_ than anything else he'd yet to hear. And with one arm stretched back, his friend was spreading his own asscheek apart to further accommodate Izaya _deeper_ into him. And,

“Hahn... I... zaya...” Shinra's mouth gave out _more_ with every thrust the raven made, which gradually picked up in pace and drew them ever closer. From this angle, they couldn't see each others' faces, and that was okay, because—

Izaya's voice was _choked_. He wrapped his arms around the other male's torso as he continued, one hand over Shinra's length, pumping fast, all the while he buried himself further. His face dug into the fabric of his friend's shirt, muffling his own voice and not allowing himself to speak, only grunt.

And Shinra's name was thundering inside his skull, and bolts were coursing through his veins, and he felt _him_ ; his friend's every move and cry, _opening_ up for him—

(too much, too much, too much)

And his fingers burnt against the feel of Shinra's wet skin, digging a little too hard over a scarred area whenever he'd hear his name—

...As his length plunged deeper into the one he called his _friend_ ,

(the One. the Only one)

...As the cries in the room grew erratic until they were both about to _burst_ ,

The hot, seething pain was let out in muffled wails that turned to _hisses_ , whispering names unheard as Izaya's body shook and filled him to the brim, until it seeped down Shinra's thighs, until the other followed by cuming all over the desk. And soon after, their boiling bodies were finally allowed to cool, their breaths caught up, and the shaking subsided.

It all crashed down and started to feel right again. Not perfect anymore, just _right_. Until their existences were separate again. And that's all it ever was.

(and perhaps all they ever needed)

~/~/~

Izaya held book in his hands, decorated in oily fingerprints from years past, smeared lovingly all over the binding. His fingers flipped through worn pages until there were about three chapters left. He stopped there.

And he wanted to close the book, but didn't. He sat it atop his desk, and left it open there.

He felt he's read _enough_ at that point. So he wanted to shut it and take a break.

(that's what actually happened, didn't it?)

His Raijin High School days were long gone. He was attending University, so his home was still in Ikebukuro. But it felt—

(empty. empty. empty)

—enough.

His mind made plans, knowing well they often change. He considered moving to Shinjuku, and then thought about

(being far. too far)

having reasons to call him. His friend, who'd taken the path of an underground doctor. He always had been fascinating in that front, hadn't he?

And then he mused about his friend's “roommate.”

Shinra's odd roommate, whom he met several times. But she had always been wearing her helmet, not fully revealing herself. He never heard her voice, and she'd always promptly leave. And Shinra never said much, coherently-speaking.

He did know that she worked as some underground courier.

Perhaps it was time he went professional and started seeking her “services.” He decided to make plans after graduation. Because whoever she was, as Izaya was too curious, she should be in his palms. 

(because there were still three chapters left on the book, or maybe another tome)

Yes, indeed, he'd read enough about his friend. He assured himself and decided that his focus must _entirely_ shift. And so he left the book there, and was determined to not touch it. (his plans always change, though. _Always_ )

Weeks after, he went back several chapters, and read them again out of boredom.

Months later, the book found its way onto his shelf.

He absently reached out for it again, and just placed it on his desk.

(sometimes he imagined acting on a whim by holding the damn book atop his lighter and wait and see if it catches on fire)

(he always shut the lighter too soon)

He eventually did have a need to call Shinra. And when that happened, their interactions were—

Like they never had any distance. Like it hadn't been almost a _year_.

(like their blur was still just as perfect)

And Izaya smiled.

Sly, and knowing, and challenging. Though no one was there to see, but Shinra could hear his tone.

And that was sufficient.

That was enough.

~Fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this far!! I'd appreciate it you'd let me know what did this story make you think of. Did it make sense? Felt like I just pulled it out of my ass? Make you feel conflicted? Or just plain enjoyable? 
> 
> Give me a thought. Any thought. Either way, Thanks again~


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